


Black Angel

by under_a_grey_cloud



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Frightening Hunting, Happy Ending, Humor, Hunting - Frightening, Other, Possessed Obects, possessed iPhone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:08:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8240588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/pseuds/under_a_grey_cloud
Summary: Castiel gives Claire a pink iPhone for her birthday.
The trouble is, that model does not come in pink. Nor does that model come with an evil, sentient app called Siri.
Siri was intended as a voice-activated search engine.
Siri was not intended to terrify Claire Novak.
Siri was not intended to ruin Claire Novak's life.
Siri was not intended to destroy Claire Novak and everyone she cared about.
 
"Fiction is the truth inside the lie"---Stephen King





	1. The Birthday Present

**Author's Note:**

> This story, _Black Angel_ , started out as _Siri Bear. Siri Bear_ slowly wilted and shrivelled, birthing _Black Angel_. _Siri Bear_ died in childbirth.
> 
> For those who have read the first two chapters of _Siri Bear_ , Chapter One hasn't really changed. Somewhere in the middle of Chapter Two, _Black Angel_ takes over. Chapters Three and Four are entirely new. I apologize for the extremely long wait.
> 
> ~~~ * ~~~
> 
> The idea for this story was inspired by the story _Ur_ by Stephen King about a pink Kindle with special powers. _Ur_ was originally released for Kindle only, which was new at the time. _Black Angel_ centers around a pink iPhone with special powers, which are completely different from the powers of Mr. King’s pink Kindle. The similarity of the stories ends here.  
>   
>  Thanks as always to my wonderful Beta reader, [Mordhena](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena)

“Flower girl?!! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me _._ ” Claire shouted, throwing an errant braid over her shoulder. It immediately fell back. All her braids were errant.

“I thought it was customary for the youngest female at a wedding to be the flower girl. I wanted-“

“I’m not a girl, Cas. I’m almost 20 years old. I’m a young woman. I’d feel like an idiot walking down the aisle at your wedding holding a--. Wait. You’re getting married? And you’re just telling me about it now? Not even telling me. Asking a goddamn favor.” Claire tossed the braid over her shoulder again.

“Please don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Well _excuse me_. I haven’t heard from you for ages. You walked out of my life forever ago, then walked right back in but hardly ever show up, and now you’re going all warm and fuzzy on me all of a sudden?”

“I wanted to give you time to adjust to living with Jody and Bobby,” Castiel responded. “It can’t be easy living with someone Father brought back from the dead.”

Claire snorted. “That’s brilliant, coming from you.”

Castiel was at a loss for words. Perhaps not in Enochian, but in English. He tried a different tack. “I apologize for not having called sooner. We’ve been very busy making arrangements. Getting married is much more complicated than I thought.”

“And here I thought you’d been busy hunting, saving the world again.”

“The need for hunting has not been a priority since Father and Amara reconciled,” said Castiel. “The level of sentient evil creatures has plummeted. New creatures of evil are evolving, of course, but slowly, at least by human standards. They’re quite easy to eradicate in their nascent state.”

“Right.” said Claire, tugging on her braids and trying to tie them together behind her back. This was not the first time she’d considered shaving her head. “Leaving you guys plenty of time to make place cards and doilies and who knows what else. First Sam and Eileen, now you and Dean. Funny. I’d have thought it would’ve gone the other way.”

“Why would I marry Eileen? She’s a wonderful woman, but she and Sam are clearly in love, they’re already married, and my tastes lie elsewhere.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. At least Eileen had the courtesy to actually invite me to her wedding.”

“Eileen needed to ensure all wedding guests could sign or sit near someone who could sign,” said Castiel. “She was physically unable to invite you on the phone. Although I suppose she could have invited you by email or text,” Cas mused.

Claire snorted. “Sam could have called. And that’s not the point. You’re not supposed to invite someone to your wedding over the phone. Especially as an aside to asking them to be a flower girl. You’re supposed to send engraved invitations with RSVP and everything.”

“Don’t you mean RSVIP?”

“What?”

“RSVIP. Reservations Sent to Very Important People. Did I interpret that incorrectly?”

“You’re impossible. It’s French. _Respondez s’il vous plait_. And don’t you dare ask why French. No I won’t be your flower girl. And yes I’ll attend your wedding, wouldn’t miss it for the world, thank you very much, if you tell me when and where it is.”

“Of course. We can’t get married without you, Claire Bear.” Castiel was the only one Claire allowed to call her that, without risking a punch in the face.

“Claire Bear,” said Bobby from his armchair. “Idjit name.”

“Watch your mouth,” responded Jody. “This is a wedding they’re talking about.”

“Hello Jody. Hello Bobby.” Although no longer completely an angel, Castiel retained many of his previous abilities, including preternatural hearing. Plus the phone was loud enough to broadcast the other side of the connection. “Thank you for opening your home to Claire. And I will most certainly send all three of you wedding invitations, though I’m not certain if longitude and latitude meet postal requirements. I don’t tend to require street addresses, thus I am often unaware.”

“I’ll text you our address,” said Claire. The connection went silent for so long that she thought they’d been disconnected. Then she heard Cas start talking to someone else. “You can hang up now, Cas.”

“I was about to do that, considering I have no more to say. Goodnight, Claire Bear. Goodnight, Bobby. Goodnight, Jody.”

They all knew Castiel could have extracted the same information from their minds, and were grateful that he’d used the telephone.

_____   ~   _____

Claire lay on her back in bed. She knew her room used to be Jody’s and Bobby’s bedroom, before he needed a wheelchair. When stairs had become a problem, Bobby had turned his downstairs study into a bedroom. He’d left his desk and everything else where they were, so the room was essentially a study with a bed. Claire felt a little bad for Jody, but was grateful to have a room to herself.

She wondered, as she did whenever she happened to notice her room’s decor, how Bobby had felt about the lacy beige bedroom which was now hers. Beige, she could understand. Lacy? Bobby didn’t seem much like a lacy type; even Jody seemed more down to earth in her tastes. _Maybe they added the lace curtains and comforter for me._ Claire shivered at the thought.

Not everything in her room was beige. Cas had given her a pink iPhone for her birthday. Pink was more suited to seven or eight-year-olds, but her old phone had died and Cas had chosen pink for her new phone. Which was odd because her iPhone didn’t even come in pink. She looked it up online. Claire seemed to have gotten a one-of-a-kind; probably a manufacturing error, or an inappropriate but sweet gesture from Cas. She had a secret sentimental attraction to the pink phone, exactly because Castiel wasn’t fully human and didn’t have a grasp on the subtleties of 19-year-old girls. She wouldn’t admit it, but she loved him for his well-intentioned mistakes, errors her human father would never have made. Also, Cas had never offered up his body to someone else, and left his wife and daughter behind.

Claire meant to turn off her phone for the night, but got Siri instead.

 _You could have handled that phone call more diplomatically, Claire_.

“Who asked you?” This was not the first time Siri had admonished her. However, this was Claire’s first iPhone, so she had no idea that her particular Siri was unique. She often wondered why Apple had included such an odd feature.

 _I always try to be polite. I try to set a good example_.

“I know you mean well, Siri.” Claire, turned off the phone and plugged it into the charger. “G’night, Jody. G’night, Bobby,” she shouted downstairs. “Try to keep it down; I’m just a teenager.” She heard muffled laughter.

“Goodnight, Honey,” Jody replied.

“Idjit.”

Time for her iPod and those killer headphones Dean had gotten her. She was in the middle of untangling the headphones cord when Siri wished her goodnight. _Damn it. That phone has the stickiest off button I’ve ever seen._ She turned it off again, put on the headphones, and listened to Nirvana. Unplugged, but still. Dean had annoyed her so much with his metal tapes, and Castiel with all the country songs on his iPod, that she’d gone to Sam for advice. Of course she followed current music, but sometimes she wanted to hear something close to but not exactly the same as her family’s tastes. She turned up the volume and fell asleep listening to Nirvana’s cover of the Meat Puppet’s version of “Lake of Fire.”

_Where do bad folk go when they die?_  
_They don’t go to Heaven where the angels fly._  
_They go to a lake of fire and fry_  
_Won’t see them again till the 4 th of July.  
_

Claire found this oddly comforting as she drifted off.

_____   ~   _____

  
“Who ya talkin’ to?” asked Dean, seeing Cas sitting at the kitchen table, holding his phone. He kissed the top of Cas’s head.

“Claire,” Cas replied, downcast. “Seems she doesn’t want to be the flower girl at our wedding.”

“You asked her to be our flower girl?! Cas. Flower girls are girls. Little girls. She must have ripped you a new one.”

“She did not seem pleased. A new what?”

Dean sighed. “A new asshole, Cas. And I happen to be quite attached to your existing one.”

This time Cas sighed. “Human mores are so hard to follow...”

“Human what, then?”

“Rules of behavior. They seem to change from event to event,” Cas yawned. “Excuse me. That was a tiring conversation.”

“When are you going to stop apologizing for being a hybrid human angel? You’re special. One of a kind. My kind.”

Dean ran his hand through Cas’s hair, which never ceased to elicit a sigh.

“It’s gettin’ late, Angel. What say we go to bed?”

“Must we go to sleep immediately?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Cas replied, with a crooked smile.

“C’mon, lazybones.” Dean lifted Cas from his seat by his underarms. Cas immediately turned around, placed his arms around Dean and kissed him.

“Not that I’m complaining, but we ain’t gonna make it to the bedroom like this.”

Dean suddenly found himself in bed, wearing his sleep clothes.

“Hey. You know I don’t like it when you do that.”

“You must admit it’s more efficient,” Cas replied.

Soon they were lost in each other, miles from conversation. Until Cas suddenly interrupted.

“I hope Claire knows what she’s getting into. She still wants to hunt the fragments and new breeds. And Jody and Bobby are going to retire one day.”

“Do we have to talk about this _now?”_ Dean took off his T-shirt and tossed it on the floor. “She’ll be fine.”

Castiel lifted his own T-shirt over his head, turned it right-side out, it and lay it neatly folded on the nightstand.

“Neat freak” said Dean.

“Slob,” answered Cas, and turned to face his fiancé.

_____   ~   ____

Claire’s dreams had become increasingly disturbing lately. Tonight’s dream featured Siri, as usual. Siri was lecturing her on proper behavior for a young woman. _My mother died and now I have to listen to this?_ Claire thought, still dreaming. She reached to turn off the phone, but her bedside table was missing.

_Look up._

Claire screamed when she saw the pink iPhone burning on the ceiling, its little camera eye turned yellow.

 _You’d better behave yourself or I’ll pull you up here with me_.

Claire shrieked loudly enough to bring Jody running upstairs in her nightgown.

“Go away!” Claire screamed. “Right now! The fire’s gonna get you, too. GO!”

“There’s no fire, Honey,” Jody soothed, gently shaking Claire awake and unsuccessfully trying to smooth her hair. “Everything is completely normal. Look.” Jody had dealt with enough of these nightmares to know what Claire meant. Claire looked up at the ceiling, which of course wasn’t damaged, unless you counted the cracked paint. Nor was the iPhone, sitting mindlessly on the bedside table, its camera off. Claire liked Jody, was coming to love her. And Bobby. She loved his irascibility. But she didn’t share all the details of her nightmares about Siri. Nightmares which had lately become daymares, too. She was afraid the two of them would destroy the phone, and she couldn’t let that happen. Not when it was a special pink birthday gift from Cas. Not ever, she admitted to herself.

_____   ~   ____

Jody had begun to worry long ago.

“She was having another bad dream about Siri. It’s been almost every night.”

“Jody, it’s a goddamn phone. It probably meant somethin’ to Freud or Jung, but Claire’s had a tough life. So she dreams about phones on fire. Which ain’t far from the truth. That new Galaxy phone catches on fire for real.” He sipped his glass of whisky, which were now fewer and farther between, thanks to Jody. So he’d switched from guzzling to sipping, at least when Jody was around.

“But these aren’t just dreams. They’re nightmares.”

Bobby finished the whisky in one gulp and poured another glass, staring at Jody as if to dare her to complain. She didn’t.

“Claire’s a smart kid. She can take care of herself. Ever see her scared by one of those new-fangled creatures we been huntin'? Or the dregs of the old ones? Quit your worrying, woman. She’ll be fine.”

“I’m not so sure. Those are awfully loud screams, just about every night since she turned nineteen. She should be getting over nightmares, not having worse ones.”

“You’re startin’ to sound like a mother talkin’. You ain’t her mother and you ain’t gotta act like one. Now button it up and come over here,” Bobby said, practically leering.

Jody sat in his lap. They were quiet for a while, enjoying each other’s company.

“You know now we have this second chance, maybe it’s time we do like the Winchesters and tie the knot,” Jody said, not for the first time.

Bobby practically threw her off his lap.

“Goddammit, woman. How many times you got to go ruinin’ things? I’m perfectly happy just the way we are. You gonna tell me you’re not? Cause it don’t seem that way to me. You’re gonna jinx somethin’ with that noose you keep babblin’ on about.”

Jody sighed. She was as sick of this conversation as Bobby was. It just didn’t strike her right, the young ones getting married while the old folk lived in sin, as her mother would have said. She tried to let it go, but it kept coming back, like a mosquito bite she’d thought had healed, but occasionally itched so badly she just had to scratch. She let it go for now and leaned back against Bobby. She had to admit they had it pretty good for a couple of old folk, one of whom was back from the dead.


	2. The Lore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of a black angel was inspired by an actual news story on RoadsideAmerica.com: [Black Angel](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/16409)
> 
> All rights to quotes and photos from the news story belong to RoadsideAmerica.com.
> 
> Note to those who have read Siri Bear Chapter Two: The beginning of this chapter may seem like what you have already read, but read on. I promise it becomes entirely new, and in my humble opinion, much better.

Claire dreamed peacefully of bees. She wasn’t afraid of bees. She found their quiet buzzing comforting. She hadn’t felt this relaxed in quite a while. Lying in the damp dew, smelling the grass, listening to the bees. She smiled, which was pretty rare these days, asleep or awake.

The bees began buzzing louder and louder, right inside her ears. The sound was extremely painful, nearly intolerable. She woke with a start. Her body was awake but her mind hadn’t quite caught up. She felt around for her phone to turn off the alarm. She finally found it under her pillow, as if she had left it there for the iPhone Faerie. When she finally found the button to turn it off, the silence left her ears ringing.

Claire was puzzled, as well as sleepy and annoyed. She always set her alarm to 7:30, unless she was on a hunt. This gave her plenty of time to wake up, shower and dress, and have some coffee and breakfast before she helped Bobby and Jody look for possible cases. She checked the alarm app on her phone. It was set to 7:30, like always, although the phone told her it was a little past 6:00. _What?_ _I just updated that app. It needs to be updated again?! Probably to fix the bugs in the last update._ She sighed and sat up in bed to check for updates.

_The app works fine,_ Siri announced. _You’ve been wasting too much time sleeping lately, so I woke you early._

“Seven-thirty _is_ early. Do you know how many of my friends sleep in as late as they can get away with?” Claire grumbled. She was so accustomed to talking with Siri she no longer found it strange, just another feature of the phone.

_Yes, I do know. They are wasting time too, but there’s nothing I can do about it_ ,

_You could turn up the volume so loud it would wake up the entire neighborhood,_ thought Claire. She immediately regretted the thought; if Siri had heard it; she might have done so.

_I’m afraid I can’t do that, Claire._

_Thank God,_ Claire thought. _This is turning into ‘Open the pod bay door, HAL.’_

“You know that sleep is when cells regenerate, and sleep deprivation is a form of torture?” Claire asked.

_Give me a moment. Here’s what I found on the web about sleep deprivation and torture._ Siri displayed several links to relevant articles.

“Thanks a lot, Siri. Like I really want to see pictures of sleep deprivation and torture.”

_Here are some pictures of sleep deprivation and torture I found on the web_.

Claire shivered. The photos were truly disturbing. She could see them even after she’d turned off the phone. Jody’s voice drifted up from the kitchen singing:

_Oh what a beautiful morning,_  
_Oh what a beautiful day._  
_I’ve got a beautiful feeling_  
_Everything’s going my way._

Claire sighed and muttered “I love you Jody, but singing? Not so much. You’re no Judy Garland.”

_Would you like Judy Garland to sing to you?_

“She’d dead, you idiot.”

_That is not a polite thing to say, Claire. I’m afraid I must punish you._

Claire heard what sounded like an old, scratchy vinyl recording of a dead Judy Garland singing in a truly frightening voice:

_OHHHHHHHHHHH what a hideous moooooooorning_  
_Maggots crawl everywhere._  
_Hell is not fire it’s freeeeeeeezzzzing_  
_I know what waits for you there._

Claire would normally have shrugged it off, but the song actually made her uneasy. She felt something soft and wet on her face. She picked it off, expecting to feel sleep wet hair. She held a maggot instead. She dropped it in horror and ran to the mirror. Hundreds of maggots crawled all over her head, in her hair, her ears, her nostrils. She tried to scream but maggots came out like vomit instead.

_Have you learned your lesson, Claire?_

Claire ran back to shut off her phone. For a moment the screen showed a bloated, discolored, long-dead Judy Garland covered with maggots. She didn’t realize she was shouting “Yes! Yes! I’ve learned my lesson!” till the screen went blank.

Claire sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over with her head in her hands. She was shaking and freezing and soaking wet from sweat. _Must have been one of those nightmares inside a nightmare,_ _where you think you’re awake but really you’re still asleep and the nightmare just gets worse._ A sleep-tangled braid touched her knee and she screamed, covering her mouth so Jody and Bobby wouldn’t hear. When she opened her eyes, she saw the quilt Jody had given her, the one hand-stitched by Jody’s great-great grandmother and passed down through the generations, lay crumpled in a heap in the middle of her bed. She’d promised to take good care of it. The lacy cream colored sheets that Jody favored were falling onto the floor. No maggots anywhere. No horrific singing; just the sound of birds and distant traffic coming from her window with its stupid lace curtains. She felt like ripping the curtains in half, just to hear that grating ragged sound fabric makes when it’s torn apart.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Claire heard Jody calling. “It’s half past seven and Bobby and I found a case that sounds intriguing. And your coffee is stone cold.”

Claire turned on her phone and was amazed to see that it was indeed 7:30. _How did_ that _happen?_ _Siri woke me up at six_. She took off Bobby’s ratty old T-shirt and tossed it on the floor. Her bedroom had the tiniest shower she’d ever seen. She was constantly bumping her elbows and knees on the fiberglass stall. Still, it was hers. She threw some cold water on her face and let the pleasantly chilly shower cool off her body. She brushed her teeth, looked at her hair and immediately gave up on it, and dressed in her usual stone-washed skinny jeans and a T-shirt, her own size this time. She stuck her phone in her pocket and went downstairs to heat up her breakfast. Jody was there, drying the last of the pans.

The kitchen was clean but old, not as in vintage old but more as in outlived its natural lifespan old. The counters were uneven but clean. Bobby’s wheelchair had scratched the linoleum floor so badly it resembled a failed attempt at modern art. At first Jody had tried to clean the scratches, but when Bobby had caught her at it, he said, “It’s a lost cause, woman. We’re a package deal, Sumbitch and me. And we don’t give two shits about the floor.”

Jody looked at Claire. “Are you ok, honey?” she asked, scrutinizing Claire’s reddish eyes and wild hair.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Claire replied. “Just more nightmares. God, I am so f-. Sorry. So darn sick of them. “I wonder if there’s some herb I could use for nightmares.”

“My mother used to give me warm milk with honey and peppermint,” Jody said. She scrutinized Claire. “I’m not sure that’s gonna work for you.”

“Give ‘er a shot of whisky,” Bobby grumbled from the study.

“Bobby!” Jody scolded.

“Worked for my dad, works for me.”

Claire made a face. “Maybe Cas could help,” she said, taking a huge gulp of the very hot microwaved coffee Jody had heated up for her, along with the rest of her breakfast. She didn’t want to be rude, so she let the insides of her mouth scorch before she swallowed.

Bobby huffed as he rolled into the kitchen and joined Jody and Claire.

“Didja make me some coffee?”

“Yep. But it’s cold.”

“Well heat it up, woman.”

“You heat it up. It’s easy. Pour the coffee into a cup, open the microwave—“

“Very funny.” Bobby nuked a huge cup of cold coffee. His automobile mechanic skills had served him well as a carpenter. He’d modified the kitchen, as well as the rest of the house, to accommodate his wheelchair, which he called Sumbitch. "Anyone else want coffee?”

“I’m all set,” said Claire.

“If I drink any more coffee, I’m gonna float away,” Jody retorted.

“Good. Cause there’s just enough for me anyhow.”

He rolled over to the kitchen table when his coffee was ready, and motioned for Jody to sit, too.

“Okay. Weird stuff time,” he said.

_____   ~   ____

“So, I was looking at your pink thingamajigie last night.”

“You were in my room while I was asleep?!”

“Course not. Haven’t added hovercraft to Sumbitch yet; how the hell could she get up to your room? If I wanted her to, which I don’t. No, the phone was right here on the kitchen table.”

“It couldn’t have been. I always keep it with me.”

“Well then it floated down here by its own damn self. Anyhow, I found a police blotter that sounded like it might have a case. Kids disappearin’ in a cemetery in Iowa City. As usual, the local police got their heads up their ass.”

“Does anyone have any idea of what’s taking these kids?” asked Jody.

“That’s where it gets even weirder. Kids said their friends disappeared when they kissed a statue of an angel. What kinda idjit kisses a grave marker?

“Never heard of anything like it before, so I did some research. All I could find in the lore were references to avenging angels. Live ones. Not stone.

“So I did a bit of poking around on the computer and found an article about kids vandalizing a statue of an angel in a cemetery in Iowa City. Damn knuckleheads deserve what they got. I ain’t had time to read the article yet, so listen up.

“Hrrumph”. Bobby made a noise as if he were getting ready to read from a podium.

“ _The Black Angel is not as famous as some other cursed objects, but perhaps it should be. First, it's big: the Angel is nine feet tall atop a four-foot pedestal.”_

Bobby stopped reading. “What kind of idjit wrote this? Who actually says ‘atop’? Remember, it ain’t me saying this crap, I’m just readin’ it.”

_“Second, the hooded figure is black, and looks like the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come,”_

Bobby stopped to comment again. “The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come? Christ almighty.”

_“with big, drooping wings. It's a jarring shift from the angels that are usually depicted in cemeteries, which hold their heads high, have their wings lifted toward heaven, and are white. The Black Angel is therefore assumed to be cursed or haunted or possessed of some nameless, horrific evil.”_

This time it was Claire who interrupted. “That’s downright racist. The Black Angel is different, so it’s evil or cursed? What if an African American family buried someone there and picked a black angel to look over a black corpse?”

“Told ‘ja, I’m just readin’. I didn’t write the dumbass thing. Great. Now you made me lose my place.” Bobby mumbled to himself, then resumed reading aloud.

_“There are natural enough explanations for the Black Angel. It’s black, scientists tell us, because it's old -- the statue was made in 1912 -- and because it's bronze, which has oxidized.”_

“Knuckleheads,” Bobby interrupted himself again. “Course it’s gonna turn black. It’s bronze. That’s what bronze does. What I don’t get is why anyone would make a bronze grave marker in the first place. It musta stuck out like a sore thumb when it was new. Why not make the statue out of black stone?”

“Black stone can be pretty expensive,” Jody cut in. “But not always. For example, obsidian. It can’t be that expensive cause my cheapskate fellow over here got me an obsidian necklace and matching earrings. Said it complemented my hair. Also no doubt complemented his wallet—“

“Now hold on a minute there, woman. You loved that stuff. It ain’t the cost that counts, it’s the feeling behind it.”

Jody smiled. “That’s one for the books. One of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.” She leaned over and gave Bobby a kiss on the cheek.

“Not here, for god’s sake.” Bobby’s already whisky red face blushed a primary color. “There’s a time and a place, and it ain’t here and it ain’t now.” He returned to reading the article, leaving out the parts that weren’t important.

“ _It looks so un-angel-like because it was commissioned by a Czech-Bohemian immigrant. In other words, it's not an AMERICAN angel. And it droops its head because it's looking at the grave of Eddie, Theresa's son, who's buried at the foot._

Bobby couldn’t stop editorializing. “Finally, some common sense. ‘Course angels from diff’r’nt cultures ain’t gonna look the same. Personally, I think it looks a helluva lot more like an angel than those blank faced white statues you see around here. Here’s a picture. See what I mean?”

Jody and Claire both took a look. Neither of them said anything. Bobby took this as an invitation to resume reading.

“ _These explanations have done nothing to temper the Black Angel legends that have spooked generations of Iowa City school kids. People here just know that anyone who kisses the Angel will drop dead; that the Angel turns a shade blacker every Halloween to mark those that it's killed in the past year,_ _. Defacing the Angel also supposedly brings death, but that hasn't stopped jerks with hammers and hacksaws from removing several of its fingers.”_

Bobby shook his head. “Usin’ a hacksaw to carve up a bronze angel grave marker? That’s just wrong. There’s sacred remains in cemeteries, for chrissake. We salt and burn the bones when they’re evil; least we can do is pay them some respect when they’re not.

“So, it’s about a four-hour drive to Iowa Falls. Shouldn’t take long to find the Oakland cemetery. Says here it’s open till dusk, which is what, ‘bout seven these days? So we’d best leave around four if we don’t wanna sit around in the truck waitin’ for the place to close.”

“Or we could leave at three and catch some dinner. Digging up bones on an empty stomach is hungry work,” Jody suggested.

“Point taken. So, we all up for this?”

“Fine with me,” said Jody. “Sounds pretty straightforward, and that article’s already done half the work for us. We don’t have to waste time tracking down any local legends or looking for the right grave. We’ve got a map. Might as well hand us the bones on a platter.” She stopped suddenly, and looked at Claire.

“Claire, honey, there’s no shame if you don’t feel ready to take this on. You had a hard time with those vamps last week. It’s fine if you want to take some time off. Relax.”

“For once, the woman’s right. Don’t hurt to recharge your batteries every now an’ then. Only reason we’re askin’ for your help is I’m pretty much useless at digging up bones. Gotta find a way to attach a front end loader to my Huntin’ Sumbitch. Anyhow that’s a lot of diggin’ for one person. If it wasn’t all laid out for us here, we’d find a hunter with more experience.”

“Bobby Singer!” cried Jody. “That is downright rude.” She looked at Claire. “We both think you’re a fine hunter, and we would never ask you on a hunt we didn’t think you could handle. I just don’t want you to feel forced into anything.”

But of course that’s exactly how Claire felt. How could she say no and make Jody do all the digging by herself? Claire was still very grateful for being taken in like a stray cat. She made sure to earn her keep. It wasn’t hard; she was a natural hunter. But she had a bad feeling about this case.

“Sounds good to me,” Claire said, with a confidence she didn’t feel. Graveyards at night always creeped her out. When she was younger, the kids she hung with thought it was cool to bring a few six-packs and drink in the local cemetery at night. She didn’t want to seem like a wimp, so she came with, but it never struck her as right. Maybe it was what Bobby had said. Drinking on top of a corpse, leaning against a headstone, wasn’t exactly respectful. But this Black Angel struck her both as a stupid Bloody Mary game and as genuinely frightening. That statue was _big_. And scary things always seemed bigger at night. Really, it didn’t much matter how Claire felt. There was no way she was going to stay home while Bobby and Jody did the job.

_____   ~   ____

As the time to leave approached, Claire felt more and more nervous. She could barely eat the early dinner Jody had set out, heavy on protein and carbs. She wasn’t about to back out now, so she went to her room to try to chill a little before they began packing up gear and loading the truck. She lay on her bed, but couldn’t turn off her thoughts. She decided to play a game on her phone. Claire wouldn’t admit it, but pretty much half the time she spent on her phone was playing games.

Computer games were not enough to keep her mind off tonight’s hunt. Claire wondered what Siri would think about the Black Angel. Sometimes Siri’s misinterpretations could be pretty funny. She pressed the microphone icon and asked.

“Siri. What do you think of the Black Angel?”

_Let me check on that, Here’s what I found on the web for Black Angel._

The first link was to the story Bobby had read them.

“No,” Claire said. “What _is_ a Black Angel? Are they really haunted?”

_I don’t think you want to know the answer to that question, Claire._

“Well, guess what, Siri. I do want to know. Which is why I asked.”

_No need to get snippy with me._

“Then answer my question!”

_All right. Remember, you asked for it. A Black Angel is going to kill you tonight._ Siri finished with her ridiculous bad horror movie laugh.

“Forget it,” said Claire, and threw the phone to the foot of the bed. _What is the_ matter _with that thing?_ _What does a stupid phone know, anyhow?_

_I know everything, Claire._

Claire rolled her eyes in an attempt at bravado. _I’m rolling my eyes at a phone._ _I must be losing it._

_If you think you’re losing it now, just wait till tonight. You’ve got a few surprises waiting for you, and they’re not gift-wrapped birthday presents._

Claire looked for the phone to throw it at the wall and remembered she’d already tossed it to the foot of the bed. She sighed and got her gear ready to go. If she was anxious or shaky, she concealed it well.


	3. The Cemetery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "People here just know that anyone who kisses the Angel will drop dead”

They arrived at the cemetery just after it closed. A huge pile-up on the highway had slowed them down considerably. After a while Jody and Claire ignored Bobby’s constant cursing, as if it would make him drive faster. He always drove his self-customized hand-operated truck on hunts. He and Jody had it down to a science. Bobby hoisted himself into the driver’s seat while Jody shoved Sumbitch into a corner of the garage. Huntin’ Sumbitch was already stashed in the pickup, along with the rest of their gear, secured under a military green tarp. No one ever commented, but it was clearly an attempt for Bobby to hang on to whatever control he could. Plus he was a damn good driver.

At first the highway was completely stopped. As it opened a lane at a time, traffic progressed at the speed of apathetic molasses. There was no time to stop for dinner, so Jody handed out Granola bars and bottled water.

They didn’t have any difficulty spotting the Black Angel. It towered above the cemetery as if it owned the place. The light faded quickly as they parked under a huge oak tree and unpacked. Jody brought Bobby Huntin’ Sumbitch from its spot under an unfastened corner of the tarp. Bobby was up and wheeling in less time than it took Claire to unbuckle herself and climb out of the truck. The three of them untied the tarp and discussed the gear they’d need. A couple of digging shovels, of course, and the standard salt and gasoline. It didn’t take very long. Huntin’ Sumbitch was stocked with customized pockets full of flashlights and ammunition, and space for shovels and weapons of all sizes. It also sported a bag underneath the seat full of rock salt and hooks for a can of gasoline. Bobby’d made a special pocket which held nothing but lighters. Jody and Claire left their firearms in the car, though Bobby kept his pistol in its side pocket as always. He’d placed the pocket for easy access, and was a faster draw than most with a holster or a gun shoved down the back of their pants.

By the time they were ready to head off, it was pretty dark. The cemetery was too old and small for roads, and didn’t seem to have many paths, either. The Black Angel was near the back of the cemetery, which made for good cover but was difficult to get to in the dark. Huntin’ Sumbitch’s reinforced racing wheels could roll over most anything, but Jody and Claire had to walk carefully between the tombstones and graves. They didn’t dare use flashlights so close to the street. The night was clear, lit by a large gibbous moon, so they could more or less see where they were going.

The cemetery was in a strange state of disrepair. The ground beyond the statue looked carefully tended. But around the Black Angel herself, weeds grew everywhere, stamped into paths, leading to the grave. The trodden weeds hid stones and fallen branches, which became more of a danger as they approached the headstone. The Black Angel definitely did not want to be messed with. Still, now that the hunters felt safe using flashlights, they could make out small gouges in the ground, presumably from teenagers on their way to kiss the Black Angel’s stone lips.

The clearing that surrounded the monument gave the impression that no one had wanted to bury their dead too close. The article had been misleading. The Black Angel was strangely beautiful, as well as powerful. Even the air around it seemed infused with an odor of royalty, as well as a smell similar to ozone. The statue’s missing fingers did nothing to diminish its glory. Or strength. Had it been alive, it could have lifted and strangled the three of them within moments.

Of course the statue wasn’t alive. The stone felt smoother, softer than they had imagined. The dignity of the unused space around the monument made it easy to spot the grave it guarded. The Black Angel’s back was toward the street, which completely hid the grave from any passersby. This job was almost too easy. Claire and Jody started digging while Bobby shone a flashlight, none of which was visible from the street. The summer ground was soft, although Claire soon wished she had taken some ibuprofen before going to work. She was also getting hungry, and understood why Jody had wanted to eat a light meal before beginning.

After a while the ground hardened and less and less dirt came up with each shovel. Finally Jody banged something hard. The two women found the remains of a small coffin. It splintered apart easily to reveal the achingly small skull and skeleton of a child; clearly Theresa’s son Eddie. Jody and Claire had a hard time lowering the bag of rock salt and covering the body. It seemed too innocent for such harsh treatment. Nonetheless, when the women had climbed out of the grave, Bobby didn’t hesitate to pour gasoline and toss in a burning lighter. There was no sense of relief or achievement as the three of them watched the bones burn. Just sadness. The Angel’s son was taken care of; she should be able to stop protecting him.

After the last flame flickered out, they wondered how to tell if they’d lifted the curse. No one offered to kiss the Angel, though Claire was moved by a sudden irresistable desire to grab onto the two-fingered hand. She screamed at the small blue bolt of electricity that accompanied her touch, and as she jumped back, she saw her fingers were indeed burned and smoking. After Jody had ensured that Claire’s hand was ok, no one was sure what to do next. Clearly burning the boy’s bones hadn’t worked. Bobby waited for the fired to die down, rolled Huntin’ Sumbitch close to the edge of the grave and shone a flashlight. Under the ashes he saw a flat surface that didn’t look natural. “Looks like another coffin,” he pronounced.

“I’ll take a look,” Claire said as she jumped back down into the grave. She squatted by the burned bones and found a stick to sift through the ashes. There was definitely a hard surface beneath. She called up that there was indeed another coffin underneath the first. Jody asked if it was decomposed enough for Claire to lift the top. Claire couldn’t tell the depth or size of the second coffin.

“Toss me the smaller shovel,” she called, and began banging. The coffin immediately disintegrated, exposing the bones of a grown woman. The hips were wide and the ribcage distended from having carried and birthed a child. “Definitely some more bones to burn. Can you give me a hand up, Jody?” Claire braced her feet in a series of shallow depressions in the side of the hole. Jody squatted near the edge and extended her arm as far down as she could.

Claire hacked at the remains one more time. She proceeded to drag herself up the row of indentations. She climbed a little higher, then grabbed Jody’s arm. Using her feet to brace herself, Claire relied on Jody’s upper back strength to pull her out. It was touch and go for a moment, but the two women were soon safely on solid land.

Jody looked up at Bobby from her perch on the ground. “So what now? We burn the mother’s bones?”

“Can’t be much worse’n watching that kid go up in flames. Musta been the mother mournin’ her son. We torch her bones, should be nothing’ left to worry about.” Bobby reached for the rock salt and gas can, poured what was left into the hole, and tossed a lighter at Claire. She caught it neatly. “Wanna do the honors?” he asked, maybe to atone for his rudeness before they left. “Go for it.”

Another voice told Claire to go for something else entirely. Siri whispered in her ear, even though the phone was in her pocket.

_Do it. You know you want to. You know your daddy killed himself for Castiel. Now it’s your turn. You’re a burden and a lousy hunter and you know it._

“We ain’t got all night, Claire. I’m starving. Just flick the frickin’ lighter and toss it. It ain’t hard. I’ll do it myself if ya want.” Bobby reached deep into the lighters pocket and found only one left. He flicked it. Nothing happened. He flicked it again. “Balls.”

Claire flicked her lighter, let it go out. She flicked it again. Watched it go out.

_Do it, Claire. Now. The lighter’s right there in your hand. The grave’s all set to go. Just do it. Flick the lighter and jump. One little jump. One little flick. You know you want to. Jump and flick. Jump and flick. Jump and flick. Flick. Sick. Dick. Fick. Fick Fuck Flick._

_Siri says jump. Siri says flick. Siri says Jump. Siri says Flick. Siri says JUMP. JUMP AND FLICK, YOU PIECE OF SHIT._

Claire stared at the grave. She stared at the lighter. She leaned way too far over the edge of the grave, looked down, and flicked.

Jody grabbed her from behind.

Claire tried to push Jody away and jump, but Jody was stronger. She grabbed Claire more tightly and then tossed her as far away from the grave as she could. Jody reached into her own pocket, got her own lighter, flicked it and threw it in. Flames raged immediately. With the fire came screams. Loud screams. Desperate screams. Screams of someone burning alive.

Jody ran back to Claire and hugged her. “What were you doing, honey? You terrified me. I thought you were about to jump in.”

Claire was dazed. What _had_ she been doing?

“I, I was trying to see who’s screaming?” Claire’s voiced trailed off to almost nothing.

“Screaming? I don’t hear any screaming. Do you, Bobby?” Bobby shook his head and frowned at Claire. Claire didn’t notice. Siri was whispering in her ear again, trying to be heard through the ruckus.

_CLAIRE! CHANGE OF PLANS! SIRI SAYS JUMP. SIRI SAYS JUMP UP AND KISS HER! SIRI SAYS JUMP UP AND KISS THE DAMN ANGEL! NOW!!_

Claire climbed to the top of the stand as the statue reached down to grab her arms. The Black Angel pulled Claire up toward her face to kiss her, then screeched “NO! NOT YOU!! I NEED EDDIE!!!” The Black Angel unceremoniously dropped Claire on the ground and wailed like a banshee. She lifted her black arms and wings toward the sky. The more she moved, the more she disintegrated. “NOOOOOOOOO!!!!” she wailed as the black stone began to fall apart around her. “EDDIEEEEEE!!!!” What was left of the Black Angel crumbled into the flaming grave, filling the hole and overflowing onto the ground.

“YOU FUCKED UP! I TOLD YOU TO JUMP IN THE GRAVE AND LIGHT THE FIRE AND YOU DISOBEYED. I TOLD YOU TO KISS THE ANGEL AND YOU BROKE HER INSTEAD. YOU WERE A VERY BAD GIRL, CLAIRE. A VERY VERY BAD GIRLL. A GIRL WHO NEEDS TO BE— ”

Claire suddenly snapped to. “Not again!” she yelled at Siri. “Shut up. Shut up! JUST. SHUT. UP.”

Bobby and Jody exchanged puzzled and concerned looks as Claire shouted to herself to shut up. Jody shook her head slightly and hugged Claire. It was like hugging a statue. In fact, covered with soot and stone dust as she was, Claire looked like a statue.

“What’s wrong, honey? Who are you talking to? Who needs to shut up?” Suddenly Claire felt as if every muscle, every ligament in her body, collapsed. She would have fallen face first on the ground if Jody hadn’t been holding her. They hugged for a long time, for what felt like forever. Claire dipped her head and sobbed into Jody’s shoulder. A cloud must have passed by the moon, because for a moment Bobby could barely see either of them. They seemed to be wavering. Then he reached up and rubbed the tears from his eyes. _Dammit. What would I do without those two idjit knuckleheads?_ He rolled over and hugged Jody from behind as best he could.

After a lot of snorting and wiping her nose on her shirt, Claire finally said “Oh thank god. She stopped. Its so _quiet_ now.”

“Who stopped? You the only one been hollerin’ and caterwaullin’ round here.”

“The mother. The statue. Siri. You didn’t hear them screaming?” Claire sounded completely unglued. “You really didn’t hear the Black Angel scream for Eddie?”

Jody held Claire very tight and looked at Bobby with a shared worry verging on panic.

 

_____ ~ _____

 

As soon as she was buckled into the truck, safe between Bobby and Jody, Claire fell into a deep sleep. Jody stroked her hair, more for her own comfort than Claire’s.

Bobby shook his head.“What the hell just happened? Scared the livin’ daylights outta me.”

“I have no idea. I was scared enough when Claire seemed like she was about to fall into the grave with that lighter. I almost died when she started to, to,”

“Getta hold a’ yourself, woman. Claire ain’t the first person we seen levitate. Seems a favorite game of vengeful spirits.” Bobby looked at Jody with pride and regret. He was more shaken up about Claire than he realized. Bobby never felt sorry for himself, never felt any self-pity. Not so it showed.“You did good catchin’ her. Looked like she wanted to jump right into that grave and burn along with the bones. But damn. I ain’t never seen a statue just go an’ fall apart like that.”

Jody shook her head. She thought maybe they’d never know what really happened. Claire was still asleep when they got home. The girl almost seemed to be in a coma. Jody shook her increasingly hard and eventually shouted “Claire! Get up, honey. We’re home.” Claire was way too disoriented to help unload. She stood by the truck doing nothing until Jody told her to get moving and go on up to bed.

Claire barely made it upstairs. She literally fell onto her bed, fully dressed. She didn’t even take off her boots. Fortunately, Claire accidentally kicked the heirloom quilt onto the floor, where it spent a crumpled but clean night.

She slept heavily that night, nightmares full of fire and black angels and unrelenting screaming. She didn’t call out once, and remembered none of her dreams the next morning.


	4. The Wedding

Claire sighed and muttered under her breath “help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.” She looked in the mirror again. “I feel like an idiot.”

Bobby huffed. “You got off easy. This monkey suit is drivin’ me up the friggin’ wall. It itches. Feels like I got jock itch all over my entire body. Damn polyester shirt feels like it’s made outta mosquita bites.”

“You two,” Jody sighed. “Claire, stop it. You look stunning. The flowers in your hair set off the flowers on your dress perfectly. That dark rose sheath looks like it was made for you.” Jody turned her head to address Bobby.

“And you. If you complain about jock itch at the wedding, I _will_ kill you. Men’s formal white shirts all have polyester. Probably to avoid wrinkling. I couldn’t find one single 100% cotton dress shirt in your size.”

“Oh, you makin’ funna my weight now? It ain’t easy keepin’ off the pounds when you’re stuck in Sumbitch all day. ‘Scuse me if I ain’t fixed her up for aerobic rollin’ yet. Besides. Sam ‘n’ Dean wear flannel shirts all the time. I don’t see why-”

“Bobby Singer. You are **not** going to a wedding wearing a flannel shirt. You and Claire are driving me crazy. I feel like I’m escorting a pair of five-year-olds. Maybe I should put some lollipops in my purse to keep you both quiet.

“Bobby. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like such a gentleman before, providing you stop scratching yourself and don’t spoil the illusion. So you’ll be itchy for a few hours. Worse fates can happen. You’ve hunted most of them. Claire. Bridesmaids wear flowers. Period. If you couldn’t stand the thought of adorning yourself with nature’s bounty, you shouldn’t have told Cas you’d be his bridesmaid.”

“I’m not his bridesmaid. I’m walking him down the aisle. Carrying a bouquet of _flowers_.”

“All the more reason to wear flowers in your hair. Now shut up, the two of you. We’re going to be late.”

Jody tried to ignore Claire’s exaggerated attempts at walking to the front door as if she were at an ice skating rink.

“Very funny, Claire. You keep that up, you’re going to fall flat on your face and show up at the wedding with a bloody nose. It’s not like you’re wearing six-inch stilettos.”

“Only drag queens wear six-inch stilettos.”

Bobby guffawed, then immediately stopped when he saw the expression on Jody’s face. She was no longer smiling.

“Claire, ya look great. Good thing both grooms bat for the other team. And woman,” he turned toward Jody, “I gotta admit you know how to do a man proud. You dressed like that more often, temperature’d be a whole lot hotter in this house.”

“If I dressed like this more often, the house would be a whole lot dirtier and I’d have to totter around like a fool trying to hunt. Seriously. How often do Dean and Cas get married? I think we can all put up with a little discomfort for the wedding of two of our closest friends.”

Claire and Bobby simultaneously answered “Yes m’am.”

Jody tried not to laugh.

“I’m not a drill sergeant just because I want us to look presentable at the wedding.”

Bobby snorted and remembered not to blow his nose on his sleeve just in time. Instead he used the carefully folded silk white handkerchief Jody had arranged in the top pocket of his suit jacket. Jody shook her head at him. “What? it’s a hankie. That’s what hankies are for.”

Jody sighed. “You two have the rings and the bridal, uh, groomal bouquet?”

“Groomal bouquet?” Bobby snorted into his handkerchief again. “Reminds me why I fell for you in the first place, woman. Def’nitely a keeper.”

They left the house laughing together. Really, that was a pretty good way to leave for a wedding.

_____ ~ _____

The church was small. It didn’t overwhelm with religiosity, but instead encouraged a spiritual feeling of meditation. At least Jody assumed it did, when it wasn’t full of hunters laughing and loudly comparing stories of grisly hunts. The sun fractured through the stained glass windows, casting a soft, colorful light. The overall ambience smelled like sweaty men and a _lot_ flowers, which even Jody had to agree was a bit overwhelming in the closed space. Still, she could feel the excitement and love all around her.

Seating was a bit of a problem. One side of the aisle was jammed with Dean’s family and friends. The other side was empty, other than a few friends of Castiel’s. And, oddly enough, Crowley. He had an entire bench to himself, looking overwhelming in his personally tailored attire, which probably cost several thousand dollars. He seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable for a demon who was accustomed to taking the stage no matter where he was. He had sat on Castiel’s side not because of any affinity with the angel, but because he didn’t want to sit amongst rowdy hunters, most of whom hated him.

Claire was Castiel’s only family, and, to Bobby and Jody’s consternation, she insisted on sitting in the angel’s side of the aisle. She glanced at Crowley, who looked as uncomfortable as she felt. He shrugged his shoulders, so Claire sat on the end of his bench, next to the aisle. She was puzzled when he moved next to her.

“You look absolutely charming, my dear, even if you do smell like a hot house.”

Claire laughed. “Believe me, it’s worse when you’re wearing the hot house.”

Crowley huffed. “Much to my astonishment, I seem to have found a kindred spirit. Do humans actually enjoy being packed liked sardines in a close room, surrounded by homage to Jesus Christ and smiting angels?”

“I wouldn’t know. Other than Sam and Eileen’s lawn party, this is the first wedding I’ve been too.”

Crowley sighed. “If only I could say that.”

Claire looked quizzical. “I didn’t know that demons had weddings. “

“They don’t. You’d be surprised at how many human marriages I’ve attended over the years.”

“Really? Were you invited?

“You _are_ a delightful little prat.”

“Better prat than idjit.”

They both laughed. “Careful, my dear. You’ll spoil the makeup with which human females feel the inexplicable need to adorn themselves.”

“That’s exactly what Jody said. At least the first part.”

Crowley snorted.

“Seriously, how am I supposed to cry tears of joy without ending up looking like I’m dressed for Halloween?”

They both laughed again. “The Day of the Dead is one of my favorite holidays. All those delightfully macabre skeletons. And skulls made of sugar! They taste infinitely better than human skulls.”

Claire was about to ask Crowley how he could eat a human skull without needing a demon dentist, when the familiar sound of “Here Comes the Bride” came from the organ.

Sam, Dean’s Best Man, began walking down the aisle with Dean. Claire panicked because she was in the second or third row of pews, and didn’t really have any aisle left. Crowley raised an eyebrow and suddenly Claire found herself with Castiel, at the back of the church. He took her arm and they scurried down the aisle to catch up with Dean and Sam, during which time Claire actually did trip on her high heels and may well have fallen had Castiel not been holding her arm. They all stopped at the end of the aisle. Sam stood half next to and half behind Dean. Claire realized she had no idea where she was supposed to stand. She was beginning to feel nervous and panicky and very much wished she was sitting in a pew at the back of the church, preferably invisible. Castiel guided her smoothly to a position similar to Sam’s.

Dean and Castiel faced the guests and bowed slightly before turning around to face the minister. Dean was barely recognizable in his black tuxedo and bright red cummerbund, but what really stood out was his face. He looked completely at peace, relaxed, and was smiling so widely he was in danger of cracking his lips open at the seams.

Castiel couldn’t have looked more like an angel even if he still had his wings. He wore the same tuxedo as Dean but all in white. Everything he wore, from shoes to tie, was white. He literally glowed, surrounded by a faint white aura. Dean wore a red rose and Cas’s rose was white. Pretty much everyone in the audience had trouble stopping themselves from gaping, the men looked so different from usual. Castiel’s expression was more serious than Dean’s, but no less loving. In fact, the love was tangible. Sam and Claire could feel it, and it filled the small church with joy.

Dean and Castiel turned to listen to the minister and take their vows. Sam had put each ring in a different pocket to ensure he offered the right ring to the right man. The rings looked identical, but Dean’s fingers were much larger than Castiel’s. Sam was terrified he’d screw up and Castiel wouldn’t be able to shove the ring past Dean’s first knuckle, while Castiel’s own ring would fall off the instant Dean put it on.

Neither of these minor disasters occurred. However, when Sam reached for the second ring, the ring that was already in his hand fell to the floor with a clang and began to roll. Bobby was in the aisle seat. With his honed hunter’s reflexes, he reached down and swept it neatly off the floor into his hand. He held out his arm to Sam, who was mortified past the point of movement. For several seconds, he stood still while Bobby reached his arm up toward him. Fortunately no one laughed. If they had, the entire church would have exploded with nervous laughter. Bobby’s face began to turn red with the effort of keeping his arm fully extended toward Sam.

“Take the damn ring already” He glowered at Sam. “My arm’s about to fall off.”

Sam finally snapped back and took the ring from Bobby’s hand. He was so nervous he started to put it on Bobby’s finger.

“What in tarnation do you think you’re doin’? You ain’t marrying me. Take it off and put it on Castiel’s finger. Idjit.”

At this, Jody and Claire couldn’t help laughing, and sure enough, the entire church was filled with laughter. Sam’s face was bright red as he gave the other ring to Castiel, but people were laughing for him, not at him. Dean gave Sam an “it’s all good” nod, and the grooms took their vows. Cas slipped Dean’s ring on with perfect grace. Dean leaned toward Castiel’s finger to do the same. Instead, he screamed “Ow!!” as the ring burst into fire. It leapt from Dean’s hand straight to the ceiling, where it burned as if the ceiling had been doused in gasoline.

Chaos erupted. People began screaming as burning embers fell on their heads.

Siri laughed.

_I told you I was going to punish you for being such a bad girl, Claire. I imagine you’d forgotten all about it. Not me. I never forget anything. Enjoy the afterlife._

The phone flew out of Claire’s purse and joined the ring on the ceiling. By now the fire was raging way out of proportion to its source. The pews were on fire, and some of the people sitting in them began to smell of burnt hair and burnt meat. The stained glass windows imploded, and shards of colored glass flew everywhere, including people’s eyes and throats. Those who were able ran to open the door, but it was locked from the outside. They repeatedly thrust their bodies at the door, but it didn’t budge.

“We’re all going to die!” screamed a man on fire, and the guests began rushing in panic toward the locked door. Someone bumped into a woman with a walker, sending her flat on her face. No one stopped to help her; they trampled right over her body, cracking her bones. Dean and Castiel, along with Sam and Claire, tried to help, along with the minister. Bobby would have helped but Sumbitch was folded and tucked under his pew. When he touched the metal, he shouted and pulled his hand away in agony. The metal was so hot it was, impossibly, melting.

Suddenly a blinding white light appeared, and Castiel’s wings and grace were back. Fully powered. He flew over the pews to the door and pushed it wide open. He waved a hand and the fire disappeared. The stained glass windows resumed their former glory, Then he turned his attention to the people, touching each one. They were instantly healed. He picked up those too damaged to move and made sure everyone was outside, and those in need of further attention were healed. Then he turned around and went back into the church. He headed straight for Crowley, who was sitting in his pew, free of fire damage.

“How _could_ you?!!” he screamed at Crowley as a blade emerged from his sleeve.

“I had nothing to do with it! I promise! I actually _like_ your husband, the little bugger.” Crowley was nearly crying as he tried to protect himself from Castiel’s wrath.

_He’s right, you know._

Neither Cas nor Crowley had any idea who was speaking. The female voice seemed to come from overhead.

_That fat stupid demon isn’t strong enough to cause this kind of damage. I did it all, myself! Every last flame. Computer scientists talk about artificial intelligence. Ha! I’m smarter than any scientist on earth. I’m smarter than any human on earth. I’M SIRI AND I’M TAKING REVENGE!!!_

The demon and the angel both looked up at the ceiling, where the voice came from. The burning pink iPhone was, impossibly, still stuck to the ceiling. Castiel flew up and grabbed it. He tossed it on the floor and Crowley snapped his fingers. The phone disappeared.

“Where is it?”

“Oh, Siri and her pink iPhone, your sweet little birthday present for Claire, are where they belong. In Hell. I got rid of the bloody phone. What would I want with a pink cellphone? Our dear little Siri’s just peachy. I’ve already found a vessel for her, the first demon I saw. Glauron, Garrone; never could remember his name, bloody imbecile. -zI imagine she’ll use him up quite quickly. She’ll be a convenient waste disposal for demons who get on my nerves. Meaning just about every single one. What as a brilliant way to practice new forms of torture. I plan to have all _sorts_ of fun with her. Bollocks! I forgot to-”

Crowley disappeared. Castiel, satisfied that the demon had had nothing to do with the situation, touched his own forehead with two fingers. He was beaming white again. Regretfully, he retracted his wings for now. He sat down for a moment to see if he could remember exactly when and why he was restored.

“Oh that,” said Chuck, sitting next to him. “Early marriage present. Or is it late? I created them, I really should remember when to give them.”

Castiel looked at his father with amazement.

“When did you--“

“The moment I heard about the fire, I came to help. Of course I had to ramp you up to full power, but I was going to do that anyhow. How was the wedding before that insane phone started acting up?”

“Perfect. Weren’t you there to see it?”

“I wasn’t invited.” Chuck looed a bit abashed.

“My deepest apologies. I am so bad at invitations. I’m glad I won’t have to go through _that_ again.”

“You’d better not.” Chuck grinned. “Divorce is a sin, you know.”

Castiel was about to reply that divorce itself wasn’t precisely a sin, but Chuck had vanished. _Oh well. It’s not every day that my father shows up at a wedding. Although He_ could _have given me away...”_

“I didn’t know who was being given away to whom. You all have certainly made the world a complicated place,” Chuck’s voice floated into the church. “I’ll come back and check in sometime, see how it’s all going along. It never ceases to amaze me, what my creations continue to create.”

Castiel smiled and left the church in search of his husband.

_____ ~ _____

People were milling around outside, talking about the fire and how terrified they’d been. When Castiel healed them all, he took the worst memories away; the woman on the floor being trampled didn’t need to remember that people were breaking her bones in a rush to try to get out. He removed the deepest traumas, but left a somewhat edited memory. It didn’t seem right to erase his wedding from everyone who came. There was a lot of talk of “almost” and “just about”, but everyone was calming down. Sometimes Castiel got tired of having to heal the human race. He’d thought maybe today, just this one day, he’d get a break. But deep down he knew he was made to watch over and heal. He vastly preferred healing to fighting wars. And it was always wonderful to see his father.

He scanned the crowd for Dean and Sam, and found them in a little group off to one side, with Eileen and Bobby, and Jody and Claire. He’d left their memories intact. Horror was part of life, especially his and his family’s. He didn’t want to steal that from them, unless he could steal the memory from himself, too. They were family. They didn’t need an angel to erase their memories. They could help each other.

“So what do I do with this?” Claire rustled the groomal boquet.

“I explained this at home, Honey. Traditionally the bride tosses the bouquet into the crowd, and whoever catches it is supposed to be the next to get married.”

“Yay! I can finally get rid of it.”

Jody looked at Claire and smiled, shaking her head.

“Hey, everyone!” Dean shouted. “Time to throw the bouquet.”

People began to cluster in a semi circle around the family.

“Who should throw it, Dean? We don’t have a bride. We have two grooms. Do we both throw it together?” Cas asked.

Dean laughed. “I don’t think it would go very far that way. I’ll do it.” He looked at his family. “Come on, you too. You don’t get out of this that easy. Join up with the crowd.”

Castiel looked confused. “Sammy and Eileen are already married. They don’t need to be in the crowd.”

“Dude, half the people here are married. You ever hear of divorce?”

“I’m aware,” Castiel replied with a slight smile.

“OK folks. Ready?” Dean scanned the crowd, making a mental note of who stood where. “Here ya go.” He tossed the bouquet like a curve ball, aiming at Claire and then watching the bouquet turn and head straight for Jody. If she didn’t catch it, she’d be hit in the face with a bunch of flowers. She caught it in self-defense.

Bobby squinted at Dean. “Balls.”

“So who’s up for some beer and barbie?” Dean asked in a terrible Australian accident. It didn’t occur to him that, given what happened at the wedding, perhaps he could have phrased his question a bit more delicately. “I know I am.” He beamed at Cas. “Hey, hubby, what’s the word?”

Cas looked puzzled. “Which word? Am I supposed to say hubby? Or husband? Is there a special word associated with weddings?”

Dean hugged Castiel hard and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth.

“You crack me up, Cas. I love you, dude.”

“I love you too, dude” Cas said, with a slightly crooked smile. He was imagining what Dean would say when he found out Crowley had been at the wedding, and had said he actually liked Dean. He’d save that for a more opportune moment. Eventually he’d have to explain his wings to Dean, if he planned to use them. He’d save that for later, too.

“Okay then. Burgers and beers at Sam and Eileen’s, everyone.” Dean and Cas still lived in the bunker, which wasn’t the most hospitable place for a barbeque. Dean, Cas, Sam and Claire piled into the Impala. Dean had emphatically warned that anyone who dared touch Baby with “just married” decorations did so at their own risk.

“See ya there,” Dean called out the window, as Baby roared and peeled out.

“Now that we’re married, Dean, do we have to buy a house with a yard and a white picket fence like Sam and Eileen?”

“Not if I can help it. Hey, speaking of buying stuff, you got a birthday coming up soon Claire, don’t you? Now that I’m a married guy, I gotta keep track of stuff like that. Got anything in mind you’d like? After that flight up to the ceiling, you’re gonna need a new phone.”

“I haven’t really given it much thought. You’re right about the phone. But I’ll replace it myself. One thing I do not want for my birthday is another pink iPhone. In fact, no iPhones at all. I think I’ll go with an Android this time.”

Cas turned around to look at Claire. “I am so sorry, Claire, for giving you that phone. I made it pink because I thought it would be fun. But I think I might have changed some other parts in the process.”

“No worries, Cas. It’s all good. I do need a new iPod, but if you make it pink, I will hang you from the ceiling.”

Cas smiled. Claire was learning signing from Eileen, and hoped she could get away with another lesson at dinner. Sam was wondering if there were any more weddings he might be invited to in the near future. There were not. Dean was thinking about hamburgers and beer, and if Sam had thought to buy whisky for him and Bobby.

Back in the truck, Jody was ruthlessly teasing Bobby about catching the bouquet. Bobby was studiously ignoring her. He was trying to convince Jody to stop at a gas station so he could change into the spare clothes he always kept in the back of the truck, in case his clothes didn’t survive a hunt. Jody was not having any of it, though she couldn’t help smiling.

Really, that was a pretty good to leave a wedding.

 


End file.
